RAIN
Chapter twenty-three
Sliding the box back on the top shelf, I throw my towel over my shoulder and step toward the door. Rome’s arms spread wide to the door frame, a wildfire starting in those beautiful eyes. “When did you put those there?”
“The day I cleaned your house.” I step closer, reaching for him, but his arms drop, and he steps back.
I know I make him uncomfortable, but I simply don’t give a fuck. Since I met him, I’ve longed day and night to share a bed.
He continues retreating. “What is going through your head when I tell you to leave, but you refuse?”
I advance a step. “That I don’t give a fuck. I’ve been told I hyper focus on certain things. I was intrigued when I first saw you. Now, I’m fucking obsessed. I want to know everything about you—every detail of your happiest memories, your darkest days, fucking everything.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and my eyes snag on the depth of his swallow. “And if I don’t want to share that?” he whispers.
I advance another step. “You keep acting as though you have a choice. You don’t.”
The cloth balls in his fist. “I-I’m not someone you want, Rain.”
I want him to punch me again if it means he’ll clean me up. “I do want you.” Another step. “Nothing you say or do can change my mind.”
He practically leaps to the ceiling from a knock at the door.
“Rome?” a soft voice calls.
Another swallow works his throat as he spins to answer it. Hanging my towel in the bathroom, I follow behind. He cracks the door just enough for his body to be seen, so I grip it and pull it open, placing a hand above his head on the door frame.
Indie’s emerald eyes flick to me, then back to her brother. “Are you okay?”
“Y-yeah,” he stammers.
I grin. “Hey, munchkin.”
Her brows pinch. “Did he just call me a munchkin?”
“Sure did.”
She folds her arms over her chest. I’m surprised her hair isn’t standing on its own, those fuzzy pink pyjamas are sure to create constant static. “I’m sixteen, not six.”
“You’re still a munchkin.”
Rome sighs, banging his head against the door frame.
I grip his nape and lower my mouth to his ear. “Don’t ever hurt yourself.”
“Let. Go,” he orders through his teeth.
I let go of his neck by sliding my hand down his toned back. This man is utter perfection, and I crave how he shivers beneath my fingers.
Indie raises a brow, and Rome clears his throat. “Go back to bed, princess. I’m fine.”
She stays rooted in place, still throwing me daggers. “Who are you?”
“Oooh,” I tease. “Should I put a lamp on a table? Am I about to be interrogated?”
“Bed,” Rome orders.
Indie steps backward toward the stairs. “Do I need earplugs?”
“Yes.” I smile.
“No,” Rome snaps.
The second she’s out of sight, I wrap my arm around him and pull him back to me.
Bergamot, mandarin, and fucking coconuts.
He stiffens as I spin him and back him into the closed door. His staggered, minty breath fans my mouth as I cup his warm cheek, and while he’s distracted raising a hand to grip my wrist, I crush my lips to his.
His moan vibrates against my lips as I force my tongue into his mouth. He says he doesn’t want me, but he’s kissing me back. Not as forcefully, but his tongue still chases mine.
Indie should be thankful that I’m eating every fucking noise he makes.
I trail my finger down his shuddering stomach to the waistband of his grey sweats.
His tongue steels and then practically recoils, like his brain decided his tongue was enjoying me too much.
He attempts to pull back, only to be acquainted with the door again.
Realising retreat isn’t an option, he pushes against my chest, the bloody cloth long forgotten.
“If you don’t want me to continue,” I tease the top of the fabric keeping me from what I want, “then say no right now.”
His breaths only spiral further out of control. “I…” he trails off, throwing his head back against the door.
I wrap my hand around his throat, wrenching him from it. “What did I fucking say?”
“Why are you doing this to me?” he whispers.
My brows furrow, and I release my grip. “I’m going to need clarification on what you mean.” I search his eyes that are giving me no answers, though neither is that tasty fucking mouth. “Rome?”
He steps around me, fisting his hair. “I was fucking him and content. Then you come along, and I hate myself because I like how rough you are with me. He was always so placid, but you’re…”
“Dominating.” I grin.
He sighs and drops to the end of the bed, placing his head in his hands.
I step in front of him, lowering to my knees. His lips part, and I can’t tell if the expression on his face is shock or desire.
I grip his face and kiss him again, swallowing that adorable whimper.
He exhales a ragged breath as his fingers thread into my hair, sending a tsunami of desire down my body as I trail hard kisses across his cheek and shaven jaw.
His touch temporarily immobilises my lips against his neck while I gather myself again.
Slowly, I slide my hand over his thigh and grip his steeled cock over the fabric, using the friction.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes.
I hum against the butterfly tattooed on his shaking chest and push him to lean back, then lick and kiss his stomach with so much force, my lips begin to hurt as I tug at his waistband.
He instinctively lifts his hips for me to rid the fabric from his body, and his loud gulp curls my lips when I grip his cock.
I watch, bewildered at the pleasured expressions he makes while I stroke him.
“You want my mouth, baby?”
He nods tensely, his cheeks brightening against his fair skin.
I arch a brow.
“Yes,” he groans.
I drop my head, letting the saliva already pooled in my mouth fall from my lips to coat him.
“Shit,” he groans as I roll my hand to spread it and then drop my head, sucking him into my mouth. He whines through his teeth, trying to push my head down.
Sucking back to the tip, I flick my tongue just to fuck with him and go back down as far as I just had.
I do it over and over until he growls and applies more force, trying to get me to take more.
My cock aches as I trace a pulsing vein with my tongue and suck harder and deeper, until he hits the back of my throat.
He chokes, pulling at my hair when I swallow. “Fuuuck.”
Just when he hardens, I suck back to the head and remove my mouth completely to suck and lick his balls. I’m sat back on my haunches, completely lost in the addicting taste of him. Up, down, left, right, I’ve no fucking clue what’s where. I’m trying to keep my own eyes straight.
He leans back further, the duvet balling tighter in his fist, and I train my hooded eyes on his face. One, because I want to see how erotic he looks. Two, I need some sense of fucking direction.
When his heavy eyes catch mine, his jaw drops further, eyes rolling back with his head.
A fucking God.
I flatten my tongue, licking back to the tip, and suck him into my mouth.
“Jesus Christ,” he groans.
I quicken my movements a little, working harder and faster, saliva dripping from my mouth and down his cock to wet the blanket.
“Fuck, Rain,” he growls through his teeth.
I suck him to the back of my throat and swallow, the sloshing and slurping steeling him in my throat.
“Shit,” he breathes. “I’m going to—F-Fuck.”
That’s it, baby. Fall apart just for me.
His rasp moan penetrates the air as he pulses and spills down my throat, legs shaking and hips jerking, trying to fuck my throat as he comes.
He pants jaggedly as I suck back to the tip to clean him.
“Shit,” he mouths, falling back onto the bed with still-quaking legs.
I doubt Connor ever made him come that hard. Stupid prick.